Cooking Time with Crowley
by athousandelegies
Summary: Crowley decides to make bananas foster for Aziraphale. The dish is...a blast, to say the least. (Originally posted on tumblr in answer to a prompt from the lovely lunasong365)


Any considerate recipe for a flambéed dish comes with this warning: "For safety reasons, never add alcohol to a pan on a burner, and use a long fireplace match to ignite the pan."

It can only be assumed that the recipe for bananas foster that a certain demon used one day failed to include any such caveat. Either that, or said demon simply could not be bothered to take instructions regarding flame, an element he knew intimately, from a cookbook.

* * *

"I don't understand why we can't just order it from a restaurant, my dear. Actually making it ourselves seems…inefficient."

"I wouldn't think an angel would object to some pure, virtuous hard work in the kitchen," Crowley teased as he pulled ingredients from the rarely (read: _never_ ) used cabinets of his flat's kitchen. "Besides, if this is your first time having it, I want it to be perfect. I still can't believe you've never had bananas foster!"

"Well, you said it was invented in New Orleans in the 1950s," Aziraphale explained, "and I haven't visited that city since…oh, since before it was a city."

"But it's become popular elsewhere as well. Still best in the Big Easy, though," Crowley added thoughtfully. "If you want, I suppose we could visit the original restaurant for your first taste of it…"

"Oh, no, making it ourselves is fine!" Aziraphale said quickly. "I'm not one for places known primarily for alcohol and debauchery."

"Aziraphale," the demon said in disbelief, "you drink all the time. Plus, your bookshop is in _Soho_."

"Which is growing into a perfectly respectful part of London, thank you very much!" the angel huffed.

Crowley let the issue slide. He wasn't about to let them bicker today — which wasn't, as it happened, _just_ the day he'd change Aziraphale's life forever by introducing him to one of the best desserts humankind had ever invented. It was also their anniversary.

On this day some thousand years ago, an angel and a demon had put aside their differences and formally agreed on an Arrangement that would benefit both of them. But Crowley was not going to mention the significance of today to Aziraphale, of course — the angel would wonder why he cared so much about some long-ago date, and that might steer conversation towards topics that Crowley was not ready to discuss yet…

"Do you have the bananas?" Crowley asked. "And the cookbook I asked you to bring?"

"Yes and yes," Aziraphale said, pulling both items from the canvas shopping bag he'd brought. The angel's collection of cookbooks was not quite as extensive as the one he had of, say, medieval erotica, but he had still managed to find one that contained a recipe for bananas foster.

Crowley took the proffered bunch from his companion and examined each banana carefully. "These will do nicely," he announced at last.

"I'm glad," Aziraphale said. "Oh! Wait a moment, I brought something else as well…found it in a pawn shop for cheap…" Aziraphale pulled an apron out from his bag. "I know how you are about keeping your clothes nice, so I figured this would come in handy. Here dear, let me tie it for you."

Crowley's face flushed as he slipped the apron on and Aziraphale bustled about behind him, fingers brushing against Crowley's lower back as he tied the faded pink apron's strings. He glanced down at the words "Kiss the cook" blazoned across his chest and his cheeks grew even hotter.

"Thanks, Aziraphale," he said, willing his face to cool down.

"Not a problem, my dear boy. Now, do you need my help, or do you mind if I go read in the living room?"

Disappointment threatened to well up in Crowley's chest, but he quickly stifled it. It was best he made it all by himself anyway — that way Aziraphale would see what an excellent chef he was. "You go ahead and read, angel," he said smoothly, "I've got this recipe covered."

The bibliophile wandered off to the living room. It was connected to the kitchen by a wide, open doorway so that Crowley could watch as his counterpart settled himself on the sofa and pulled a dusty volume out of his bag.

"Soon enough, I'll be serving you a dessert to die for!" the demon called from the kitchen. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Okay, what was the first step…melting butter. Well, that was easy. Crowley measured out the butter and dropped it into the skillet that he'd set over a burner that had never before come in contact with a pan. Next came mixing the sugars and spices — also easy. Except — _whoosh_. There goes the brown sugar, all over the pristine tile floor. Crowley scowled, glanced over to the living room to make sure Aziraphale hadn't noticed, and threw a glare at the sugar that convinced it to defy gravity and return to its bag.

Next up, one tablespoon of banana liqueur. Holding a spoon out over the skillet, he poured the yellowish liquid out of its bottle — "Damn!"

"Having some trouble, dear?" Aziraphale asked absently from the sofa.

"I'm fine," Crowley growled, eyeing the excess of banana liqueur that had sloshed straight into his skillet.

He did his best to spoon up some of the surplus, and let the rest be. So it would have some extra flavor, that couldn't be a bad thing.

And now it was time to add the bananas. He peeled two of the bananas from the bunch, sliced them in half lengthwise as the recipe instructed, and plopped them down among the merrily simmering mixture.

"Spoon the sauce over the bananas as they cook for one minute," Crowley murmured, reading from the cookbook. He glanced at his watch, then got to spooning. This part, thankfully, turned out well.

And now…Crowley grinned. He was on the last step: adding the rum and letting it catch flame. Time for the show.

"Hey, Az, come over here," he called.

Aziraphale made a show of grumbling, but obliged, putting his book down and making his way to the kitchen.

"Watch this," Crowley said, a wicked glee gleaming in his eyes. After pouring out the called for amount of rum into a measuring cup, he splashed all it onto the skillet on its burner.

Had Aziraphale not grabbed the demon around the waist and pulled them both down to the floor, Crowley might have found himself rushed straight down to Hell's doorstep, in need of a fresh body.

Flame exploded from the pan, a wave that engulfed the cookbook, the cabinets, the plants on the windowsill.

Before it could spread, Aziraphale had performed a complicated gesture that forced the waves of flame back.

Meanwhile, the sprinklers on the ceiling whined into life.

"My furniture!" Crowley wailed, scrambling to his feet as he watched water rain down onto his sofa. "My violets!" he cried, turning to the incinerated plants on his windowsill.

"There, there," Aziraphale soothed him, miracling the sprinklers off with a wave of one hand while patting Crowley's shoulder with the other. "I take it this is not how this dish is meant to turn out," he commented, eyeing the charred remains of what had been banana and sauce singed to the inside of the skillet.

"What are you talking about, Aziraphale, this doesn't look delicious to you?" Crowley snapped sarcastically, and then buried his face in his hands. "It's a wreck."

"Look, why don't we try again?" the angel suggested. "We still have plenty of ingredients. I'll help, and we'll take the pan _off the burner_ before pouring in the rum this time, and it will turn out just fine."

Crowley raised his head to meet his companion's eyes. "You'll help?"

"Yes."

"Okay. But _I_ still get to wear the apron."

"My clothes will just have to fend for themselves," Aziraphale agreed with a smile.

Not much time later, Crowley was scooping generous helpings of vanilla ice cream into beds of sliced banana, spooning flambéed sauce over the whole creation.

"Now _this_ ," he said proudly, placing one dish before the angel at the table, "is bananas foster."

Crowley sat down with his own dish, and the two beings dug in.

"Mmm," Aziraphale hummed happily. "You were quite right, dear, I was missing out."

"I told you, angel," the demon replied, mouth full of ice cream, "just listen to ol' Crowley and he won't lead you astray."

"Whatever you say, you sly devil." Abruptly, Aziraphale leaned over to kiss Crowley's cheek, which had a dab of banana sauce on it — the demon blushed, suddenly warm all over despite the cold dessert in his mouth. "Happy Anniversary, by the way."

Crowley struggled to swallow his ice cream, then choked out, "You — you remembered?"

"Naturally, dear. What's that saying humans have? An angel never forgets?"

"…That's elephants."

Aziraphale looked bewildered. "No, no, I'm quite sure it was angels…"

Crowley laughed and reached out to take his counterpart's hand. "It can be angels," he conceded, too blissful to argue. "Happy Anniversary."


End file.
